


Distal

by debit



Category: L.A. Confidential (1997)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:54:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debit/pseuds/debit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life after LA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distal

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written June 8, 2001.

Six months after LA and Lynn's hair was brown again. She just walked in one day and there she was. Lynn, but not Lynn.

She'd twirled in the middle of the plain living room rug. "What do you think?"

And it took him a minute to get over the shock of that face under that hair, but then he said, "Nice. It's… Nice."

Making love to her that night felt wrong, like he was cheating on her with her sister. They didn't talk about it.

Didn't talk about much at all, really. At first because he couldn't, then, when he could, there just wasn't much to say.

Bisbee Lynn and Bisbee Bud weren't the people who talked for hours in her sad little room in LA.

She had her dress shop. He had her. Did a few odd jobs, but Bisbee was a small town and there was no market for Bud. Not much need for muscle here. Not Bud's kind of muscle.

And Lynn…changed. No silks and satin in Bisbee. Too hot for that. Too small town for that. Lynn put on her sensible cotton and linen and…changed. Less quick to smile, damn sure less to say fuck 'em, maybe didn't even think it much anymore. Bisbee Lynn started going to church and grew small worry lines around her eyes.

They never talked about before. Never talked about LA or Patchett or that night.

He still loved her. Still held her at night and when the moon made her hair blonde again, the days seemed like a dream.

Hot, dusty days. Quiet days when you could hear the air brakes on the trucks headed to Bakerville. Hear the talk drift over the sound of the old fan.

Small town talk. Doesn't matter that Bisbee is a world and half from LA. News still travels and people still talk. About him, about LA. Not about Lynn so much. Not so he could hear it, anyway. Not anymore.

That had felt good. Hot sun beating down, dust in his face, blood on his fists, knuckles aching, man at his feet. Until later and Lynn. Quiet voice and trying not to flinch when he turned too fast and, "It's different here, Bud. You can't. You just can't." That's when the worry lines first started to grow, the smiles started to fade.

And he tried. Tried. Found small jobs. Went to church. Held Lynn, told her he loved her. Didn't think about LA.

He ended up looking for work outside of town. Neff. Double Adobe. Sometimes even as far as Lewis Springs. Mostly seasonal and never anything that paid well.

One night he turned the car toward Corta Junction instead of Bisbee. Friday night and he had money in his pocket and he needed…something. Something.

Found a bar with a neon sign out front. Small sign but pretty fucking fancy for Corta Junction. He didn't care about fancy. There was an air conditioner in the window next to the sign.

Inside and other than the cool air, it's the same as Bisbee. Hard faces, hard eyes and silence. Silence when he takes an empty stool and orders a scotch. No water, no ice. Make it a double.

One quick swallow and it's gone. Fiery trail down his throat, glow in his stomach and one quick rap on the bar with the empty glass. Yes. Another.

And another.

The talk started up again around his fourth. Music from the jukebox and louder talk until his fifth, maybe sixth drink. Maybe it was seven.

And he can't even remember how it started. Maybe he held a stare too long, maybe he didn't say the right thing, the Bisbe thing.

Didn't matter. The end result was predictable and he could do that. Easy, *gloriously* easy to fall back into the rhythm of it, the swing and crunch of impact. Not thinking, just listening for that noise a rib makes when it's sprung, the crack of a broken cheekbone and yes. Yes.

There's vague shame later even though Lynn didn't say a word. Didn't do more than touch the bruise on his cheek and look at him. Didn't tell him he couldn't. Didn't say anything but his name, low and sad.

Other Friday nights, other towns. Hereford. Stark. Naco. Other fights and the swelling in his knuckles never really seemed to go down. Dull, constant ache that nevertheless felt damn fine when his fist was busy rearranging someone's face. Just like the good old bad days at the Victory Motel.

He must have been thinking about that the first time he called.

He'd been driving back, windows down, desert night air drying the sweat on his face, under his arms. Back to Lynn, back to Bisbee. Still half drunk, maybe more than half. The steering wheel had been slippery under his aching hands.

Can't remember seeing the gas station or deciding to pull over. Just walking over to the pay phone. Didn't close the door all the way, but that was okay. He could dial the number in the dark. With his eyes closed. Maybe he even did.

It was late, but he asked anyway. Wasn't *really* surprised when the call got transferred. Click, click, click and then, "Exley."

Bud leaned his forehead against the glass. Breathed.

Five hundred and eighty-five miles away, Exley made an impatient noise and repeated his name.

Voice as crisp as a new dollar bill. Maybe wilting a little around the edges, but it was late. Too late, probably, but Bud breathed again. Cleared his throat. Was going to say something, no fucking idea what, but Exley inhaled. Said, "Bud."

Just that.

His throat dried up. Dry, dryer, dryest and he wished he'd taken one for the road. Rolled his forehead against the cool wall and tried again. Finally managed, "Yeah." Waited for Exley to say something, to ask. How's Lynn, how's it going, what the fuck are you doing calling me this late?

Silence. Nothing but the sound of Exley breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Then, "Yeah."

Bud gripped the phone tighter. Held it hard to his ear. Listened to Exley breathe some more. Pressed his cheek to the glass. Opened his eyes and looked at the road stretching west.

He hung up without saying another word. Drove back to Lynn.

*


End file.
